The Chair Shot Heard 'Round The World
by Dragonmoon-Eclipse
Summary: CHris Jericho's feelings after the Y2J/Test match abruptly ended on Raw 1/20/03
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own nothing affiliated with the WWE.  
  
  
  
Jericho had done exactly what he was supposed to do. He had picked up the steel chair and swung it at Test's head. Test had ducked. Everything should have gone off without a hitch. The steel chair angle was played almost every night, and usually everything was fine. Usually.  
  
I feel the steel chair slide from my grasp; hear it hit the floor with a loud clang. As I stare down at the unconscious Stacy in horror, the façade that was Y2J melts away, and all that is left standing there is me, Chris Irvine. I had seen Stacy Kiebler standing there, seen the momentary terror that filled her eyes as the chair connected, but had been powerless to do anything. Had I only swung with a little less strength. but I had trusted Andrew. I knew that he could get out of the way in time; knew that Andrew was fast for a guy his size. We had practiced this earlier that night. Besides, Bischoff had told me to make the swing believable.  
  
I back away slowly, muttering under my breath. "I-it wasn't my fault. She wasn't supposed to be there." Things like this happened in matches, right? I look around at the crowd, scanning for someone who believes me, someone who understands. They are all too busy saying how much my character. how much I. suck. I don't remember getting into the ring, but suddenly I'm there, my muttering turned into shouting as I turn around, still scanning the crowd. "It wasn't my fault! This wasn't supposed to happen! She was in the way!"  
  
Earl Heppner gets in my face, telling me to get backstage, and I look into his eyes. "Earl, I didn't mean to."  
  
His eyes remain cold and unbelieving as he points towards the ramp. "Get out of here, Chris, you're in the way."  
  
I look down at Test and see him kneeling over his fallen girlfriend, tears streaming down his cheeks at the EMTs start to put the brace on her neck. Tears threaten to spill down my own cheeks as I leave the ring, walking up the ramp to a chorus of boos and hisses. I stand at the top, looking back down the ramp. Suddenly, now more than ever, it seems vital that at least someone in the arena believes me. I shout at the top of my lungs. " I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"  
  
I hear some kid in the audience shout back, "YEAH, RIGHT!"  
  
I shake my head, a group of referees escorting me backstage, knowing that no one is going to believe me. After all, I am Chris Jericho. Who could ever believe that underneath the overly cocky character, is a feeling person?  
  
  
  
Author's notes- Alright, that was just a quick response to what went down on RAW Monday night. I never write in first person anymore. Lemme know what you think, and if you want me to continue it.  
  
Dedication- This story is dedicated to Stacy Kiebler. I hope you feel better soon. Also to Chris Irvine. I, for one, believe it wasn't intentional. 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I wasn't Vince McMahon. **rummages through a drawer, and pulls out a mirror** Nope, definatley not Vince. I own nothing. Oh, and by the way, I am making no money off of this story so please don't sue me. Trust me, it wouldn't be worth the court costs.  
  
I glance around the hallway as I walk towards the lockeroom that Jay Reso and I share, looking for a friendly face. All I'm met with are cold looks; none of them believe me either. My role as Chris Jericho has distanced me from all of my old friends. I mean, it does make sense; none of the "good guys" can be seen publicly hanging out with one of RAW's biggest heels. Rather than face the hostile glares, I hurry into my lockeroom, closing the door and moving into the bathroom, just wanting a hot shower.  
  
I turn on the water, shed my ring gear, and step inside, leaning against the cold tile wall. Scott Levy, a.k.a. Raven, would have believed me. He would have hurried down to my room and made sure that I was okay. But, unfortunatley for me, he had asked to be released from his contract right after the match against Jeff Hardy last Monday night. The WWE hadn't been treating him the way that he deserved to be treated, and not getting into the Royal Rumble was the last straw. So my best friend had sliced off his dredlocks, hung up his kilt, and quit. He probably isn't even watching RAW tonight.  
  
I shake my head, knowing that I am being selfish. I should be thinking about Stacy, and the pain that I've caused her, not standing around feeling sorry for myself. So what if no one believes me. I feel a tear trickle down my cheek, followed by a second, and a third. The fact that everyone of my so-called "friends" doesn't believe me only makes me feel worse about what has happened.  
  
I lean against the wall, crying for a long while. Finally I take a deep breath and step out of the shower, hurriedly drying and pulling on my clothes. I have to find a way to set things right. I need to make sure that Stacy's okay.  
  
I walk out into the main room, and Jay Reso's sitting at the table, reading a book. He looks up at me, and my heart sinks. His eyes are filled with doubt, sadness, and maybe a trace of. fear. I give him a weak smile. "Hi Jay."  
  
"Hiyah, Chris." His voice sounds unsure. "How's. how's it going?"  
  
"Jay I need to know-"  
  
He cuts me off. "Chris, man, I know what you're gonna ask. I don't know what to believe anymore."  
  
Wordlessly, I shoulder my bag and walk out of the door. I hear him call after me, but I pretend that I don't hear him. It'd be way too painful for me to awnser right now. I start running towards the parking lot; I need to get out of there. Now.  
  
I turn a corner and collide with Shawn Michaels, knocking him to the floor. I hold out a hand, helping him to his feet. "Shawn, I'm so sorry. I- "  
  
He holds up a hand to silence me. "I know, man. For what it's worth, I really believe that you didn't mean to hurt that girl."  
  
"Y-you do?" My voice is filled with hope. Finally, someone who believes me.  
  
"Yeah. Shit happens." He sighs, glancing down at his watch. "I have to run. I'm late for a meeting with Bischoff. Take it easy, Chris." Shawn moves around the corner.  
  
I take a deep breath and then continue towards the parking lot. I hurry over to the security booth, and sign out, looking up momentarily and seeing anger in Arn Anderson's eyes. Great, another person who doesn't believe me. I pull my keys from my jacket pocket and hit the unlock button on my rental car. First thing's first. I need to know that Stacy's okay.  
  
  
  
Author's notes- Okay, I wanted to start make one thing clear. I don't believe that Stacy being hit by that chair was scripted. Reason one; I sketch as well as write. Thus, I am good at reading facial emotions and body language, and if Chris Irvine was acting, he deserves an Oscar, because he completely had me fooled. Reason two; Have you ever seen Test break down like that before, in ANY scripted event? Because I haven't. And finally, Reason three; if it was scripted, Jericho would have come up behind Test while he was distracted and nailed him with the chair. That's how his character is. This story is based on MY opinion that this was a scripted event gone wrong. I honestly don't think that she was supposed to be standing there. Everyone is entitled to his/her own opinions, but please do me a favor. If you think that it was scripted, PLEASE don't bring it up in the reviews. I'm sorry to bring it up, but it's driving me nuts that I'm getting a bunch of reviews/e-mails saying how most of wrestling is fake. Trust me, I know it is.  
  
Any reviews/ e-mails OTHER than the ones mentioned above are more than welcome. Thanks a bunch.  
  
~Holly  
  
P.S.- I just need to say it. RAVEN, WE MISS YOU!!!!! 


	3. Chapter Three

I park the car outside of Providence General Hospital and walk into the emergency room. I walk up to the front desk, and clear my fault to get the nurse's attention. She momentarily glances away from her computer screen before her eyes flick back to it.  
  
I sigh, and then clear my throat to get her attention. Typically rude hospital personell.  
  
She raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to look away from the screen. "Can I help you, sir?"  
  
"Yes, I'm looking for a. friend of mine. Stacy Kiebler. Has she been treated yet?" It seems odd for me to call Stacy a friend. We'd had a few short conversations before, but we'd never really had the chance to become close.  
  
The nurse types into her computer. "What's your name, and why was she admitted?"  
  
"Chris Irvine. Stacy was admitted for," I take a deep breath. "Severe head trauma."  
  
She finally takes a good look at me, her face showing signs of recognition. "Hey, aren't you the one-"  
  
"Yes," I say as quietly as I can. "I'm Chris Jericho, the assclown that put her in here. It was an accident and I just want to see if she's okay." I take a deep breath, willing her to believe me.  
  
She looks at me for a moment longer and then sighs softly. "Room 261, floor number two."  
  
"Thanks," I glance at her name badge. "Thanks a lot, Becky."  
  
"Yeah, well, just don't make me regret giving you the room number."  
  
  
  
I stand in front of the closed door of room 261, the bunch of yellow roses that I bought at the hospital's gift shop in my right hand. I raise my hand and pause for a second before softly knocking.  
  
The door swings open and I find myself face to face with her boyfriend, Andrew. He gives me a look that in no short terms tells me to start talking, or else I'm a dead man. "What the hell are you doing here, Chris?" He says quietly, still blocking the doorway. "Come to do more damage? You already gave her a concussion. She's lucky that you didn't do more than that."  
  
"Andrew, man, you know me. You know that I would never do something like that intentionally."  
  
"Chris," His voice is now shaking with rage. "Get out of here. Neither Stacy or I can handle seeing you right now. Leave, and don't come back."  
  
"Fine." I put the flowers on a gurney that happens to be by the door. "Give her these, and tell her." I pause, fighting back tears, "Tell her that I'm really sorry."  
  
Andrew gives me a glare, daring me to follow him inside. He picks up the flowers and walks into her room, closing the door behind him.  
  
I hear Stacy's weak voice from behind the door. "Who was it, 'Drew?"  
  
"No one, Stace. No one at all. Get back to sleep."  
  
  
  
Later that night, I return to the hospital. I walk right up to her room, and find that the door is open, and the bed is empty. I walk up to the nurse's station and clear my throat. "Excuse me, miss. Where is the woman who was in room 261 this morning?"  
  
She looks up at me. "She's been moved to another room, sir. What's your name?"  
  
"Chris Irvine."  
  
She types something into the hospital's computer. "I'm sorry sir, but her boyfriend has informed us not to allow you to see her. I'm afraid that you must leave the building."  
  
I nod and wordlessly walk towards the elevator. As I do, I see a pale yellow object in the trash can in Stacy's former room out of the corner of my eye. I glance over at it, and wish that I hadn't. Sitting in the trash can is the bouquet of roses that I had bought for her.  
  
I leave the building and go out to my car, opening the door and sitting down. I put my head on the steering wheel, trying to clear it. My cell phone rings and I reach over and grab it from the dashboard. I wait for the second ring and then pick it up with a sigh. "This had better be good."  
  
"Is that any way to talk to your boss?" Biscoff sounds full of himself, something that he rarely does anymore.  
  
"Biscoff, shouldn't you be worrying about your job. I mean you've only got, what, about twenty days left."  
  
"Twenty days, five hours, seven minutes. But that's not what I called to tell you about." He sounds pissed and I feel a slight smile curl my lips, despite my overwhelming guilt. If there's one thing that I love, it's torturing Eric Bitch-off. "I'm calling to tell you that you have until Monday off-"  
  
"Really?" I try not to sound shocked and fail miserably. "Thanks, Eric, I-"  
  
"-You didn't let me finish. I have an idea." I can hear the triumph in his voice, and I can almost visualize the fake smile that he has plastered on his face. This can't be good. "You're going to play this off like it's Test and Stacy's fault that she got hurt. You can slip an apology in there somewhere, but you will blame them."  
  
"But Eric. I can't. I mean."  
  
"Chris, either you do it, or you join your friend Raven in the unemployment office. RAW has no room for dead weight right now. You can get your tag team partner to help you, but this will happen Monday night." The phone goes dead. I've never heard Bitch-off say goodbye on the phone. He prefers to have the last word.  
  
I toss my phone on the passenger seat, and put my head back down onto the steering wheel. I have a feeling that this situation is only going to get worse. 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I own nothing involved with the WWE.  
  
I sit on Scott's couch, and hit the rewind button on his VCR clicker again. I play it back from the beginning, watching myself and Christian act like a pair of assclowns. I sigh, and take a sip of my rum and coke. I usually never drink anything heavier than beer, but desperate times.  
  
Scott Levy walks in and hits the power button on the VCR, filling the t.v. with static. "Chris, you need to stop beating yourself up, man." He sits next to me on the couch. "It's not healthy."  
  
"Scott, you saw the tape, and I'm sure she did too. Look at all of the shit that I said."  
  
Scott sighs, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "Chris, that wasn't you. It was Jericho, not Chris Irvine-"  
  
"Is there really that big of a difference between the two anymore, Scott? Is there any difference between you and Raven?"  
  
"With me, no. But you, you're different. My character was built on who I am. But I'm not as extreeme as he is. And neither are you."  
  
I turn away from him, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Then why can't I see that?"  
  
"You will. You're just really upset and you need some time to think things through." He puts a hand on my shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "But for now, you need to relax."  
  
"Thanks for everything, Scott. I-I've really missed you." I manage a small smile. I lean foreward and give him a hug.  
  
"Yeah, well, I've missed you too." He hugs me back for a few seconds and then backs away, smiling. "You know that you're always welcome here."  
  
I shake my head, chuckling slightly. "Not to get off subject, but that hair cut really doesn't work for you."  
  
I hear a feminine laugh from the doorway, and Lita walks in. "You're one to talk, Chris. I mean, c'mon. I don't know what's worse, the goatee, or those hideous checkered pants that you wore on Monday. Damn things gave me a migrane just looking at 'em."  
  
Scott grins and walks over to his girlfriend, hugging her. "Hiyah, Red." He looks surprised when she doesn't hug him back. "What's wrong?"  
  
"You think that I've forgiven you for that haircut yet? Ha!" She looks angry, but the playful look in her blue eyes give her away. "I don't know what hurts worse; you slicing your dredlocks, or you quitting the WWE."  
  
He smirks, "Ouch. That was a low blow."  
  
I just sit there, grinning. Lita turns to me. "What're you smirking at?"  
  
"Nothing. Nothing at all. I'll be right back." I pull my cell phone out of my gym bag and walk towards the door that leads to the fire-escape.  
  
"Chris..." Lita calls after me.  
  
"Yeah?" I'm trying to hold onto my good mood and failing miserably. Andrew has already hung up on me about a hundred times in the past week and a half.  
  
"It's only Wendsday night. Give them a little bit longer before you call again."  
  
I sigh, turning off my phone and slipping it into my bag. "You're right. I know you're right."  
  
Scott clears his throat. "Chris, maybe you should call Bitch-off. Let him know what's up, ya know?"  
  
I shake my head. I haven't even bothered to check my messages. I've missed a house show, and I know that Bitch-off must be pissed. Then again I know that if he does fire me for it, Vince'll chew him up and spit him out. That happens when you've dated the boss' daughter on and off for years. "I'll call him on Friday, I promise. I just need to talk to Stacy first. You guys know that it was an accident."  
  
"Of course it was, Chris. And I've been telling everyone backstage that it was. A lot of people believe you." Lita brushes a strand of my blonde hair out of my eyes, and then groans. "Chris. You're color's fading... God, could you be any more helpless?"  
  
I laugh, shrugging. "Well, I ran out of die."  
  
"C'mon." She grabbes her car keys and kisses Scott. "Sorry, baby, but this is an emergency."  
  
Scott smirks again. "I guess this means that I'm forgiven?"  
  
She looks back at him and laughs. "You wish."  
  
Lita disappears around the corner and I look back at Scott, getting up from the couch. "Do ya think that I could get away with not following her?"  
  
"Let me put it this way, Chris. Do you have a death wish?"  
  
  
  
Author's notes: Alright, this chapter is what you get when you're running on four hours of sleep in two days. It looks good to me right now, but I may end up rewriting it. Again I have to add; I LOVE YOU, RAVEN!!!!! I might eventually write a story about Lita and Raven, but for now we'll just say that Raven and Lita are a couple. 


	5. Chapter FIve

Disclaimer- I own nothing/no one in this story.  
  
  
  
I wake up with a yawn, rolling over on Scott and Lita's fold-out couch. Friday is here, and I still haven't called Eric or checked my messages. And Andrew still hasn't let me talk to Stacy.  
  
Scott comes out of their bedroom, running a hand through his blonde hair and walking into the kitchen. He picks up his favorite coffe cup, a white one that reads "Warning; The Surgeon General has determined that bothering me before I've had my first cup of coffee is hazardous to your health.", and moves over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. Little did he know that Lita had conventiently turned off the timer before she went to bed last night, just to piss him off.  
  
Lita bounces into the room as he is still staring forlornly at the empty coffee pot. She walks up to him, a smirk on her lips. "Morning, baby. Forget to turn on the coffee last night?"  
  
Her evil grin gives it away. "You didn't."  
  
Her grin widens. "Consider it payback for the dredlocks."  
  
He shakes his head, flipping the manual switch on the coffee pot. "Urge to kill rising, but. too. early. in the morning. Must. have. caffiene. before. committing. homicide."  
  
Lita laughs and then walks over to me, sitting at the edge of the fold-out bed. "Morning, Chris. Get ahold of her last night?"  
  
I sigh, turning on my cell phone. "Nope." I dial my awnsering service and put it up to my ear, checking my messages for the first time this week. Eric's messages are the first two. Vince's is number three. The second I hear their voices, I hit the button that skips them; I just can't handle a pre-recorded lecture right now.  
  
Stephanie McMahon is message number four. "Chris, we really need to talk. Eric and I are worried sick about you. Call me, okay? I really mean it. Love ya. Bye." I was still one of the only wrestlers to know that those two were together. If Eric was actually fired by Vince, I knew he'd eventually end up on Smackdown!. Hell, it might even help their relationship.  
  
Messages five and six are from Jay. I skip those too; what's the point of even listening to them? I already know that he's just calling to check up on me.  
  
I'm about to give up when the last message starts playing. It's from Stacy. "Chris, we really need to talk. please call me on Friday; Andrew won't be in all day. Thanks."  
  
I pull a pair of jeans over my boxers and throw on a pair of sneakers. Lita gives me a questioning look, but I just open the window and climb out onto their fire-escape. Which reminds me of one thing. During February, at the ass-crack of dawn in New York city it's freezing outside.  
  
Lita tosses Scott's leather jacket to me, and a quickly pull it on. She flashes me a grin and shakes her head. "And you say your from Canada?"  
  
She closes the window before I can think of an appropriatley scathing insult. I dial Stacy's number, sitting on the cold, rusted iron. On the third ring, I'm finally realizing that I can see my breath, and Stacy picks up, sounding like she's just gotten out of bed. "Hello?"  
  
"Stacy it's Chris, sorry if I woke you up."  
  
"Nah, I've been up for a while. I know that 'Drew's been an ass lately. he still thinks that you could've stopped the chair in time." She laughs softly, "He doesn't realize that I'm a big girl and that I was the one that chose to be at ringside. And I was the one that spaced out while the match was going on."  
  
"Y-you don't think that I tried to hit you?"  
  
"Nope. I also know that you apologized as much as you could have this past Monday. You talk to Biscoff yet?"  
  
"Not since the show. Why?" I close my eyes, knowing that I'm not going to like this.  
  
"Eric is turning this into a plot-line. He pulled his usual walking-around- shouting 'I am God, hear me roar.' at-the-top-of-his-lungs shit."  
  
I groan, not really wanting to start this plot-line. "I'll call Vince. He'll fix this."  
  
"It's no good; 'Drew and I already tried him. Mr McMahon loved the idea. siad that it'd be good for the fans and all of that junk. Besides, Eric told me to tell you; 'If you go to Vince or anyone else with this, he'll have your ass in a sling.'"  
  
I hit the iron railing in front of me, inwardly cursing Bitch-off. The "anyone else" that he had been talking about was Plan B. Stephanie McMahon. Bitch-off knew that I'd have gone to his girlfriend, and had planned for it. "Alright then. Stacy, I'm so sorry about hitting you. It was a complete accident."  
  
"It's okay. I'm going to be fine. I've gotta get going. See you on Monday." Her end of the phone clicked off. I notice a small drop of warmth on my cheek and wipe it away. I haven't even noticed that I'd been crying.  
  
  
  
Author's notes- I just wanted to quickly let you know that I won't have computer access for the next couple days so the next chapter won't be up until Friday. Thanks for all of the reviews.  
  
~Holly 


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: For all of the people who haven't gotten it yet, lemme spell it out for ya. I OWN NOTHING!!!!  
  
A few hours later, I end up back at the apartment. I pull out my spare key and unlock the door, walking in.  
  
Scott's sitting there on the couch, channel surfing. Lita's nowhere in sight. Scott looks back over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Red left for the airport a little while ago. She was right, ya know."  
  
I sit down. "Yeah, I guess she was."  
  
"She said to tell you that she'll see you on Monday, and if she doesn't, you won't have to worry about finding another job. She'll hunt you down herself and kill you." Scott chuckles, "She's certainly got a temper."  
  
I grin, "Yeah, you two certainly are a match."  
  
He grins back. "Oh sure, you're just glad that you didn't get stuck with her."  
  
"Damn straight." I take off his leather jacket, fishing my wallet, cell phone, and keys out of the pockets. "Thanks for lending me the coat."  
  
"Oh, THAT'S where that went. I was barely conscious before you left."  
  
"You are so useless before you get caffiene into you."  
  
  
  
I walk into the arena and straight to Bitch-off's office. I still haven't returned his phone calls, or Stephanie's, or Vince's. As much as I hate to say it, my job in the WWE does mean a lot to me; I'd rather be here than in any other league. Maybe if WCW hadn't gone bankrupt. But it had, so I was stuck playing nice for now. Inwardly, I hoped that Bitch-off would get fired next week and Shane O Mac would come in to take his place. He at least would treat us like people instead of pawns on a chessboard.  
  
I walk into his office, not even bothering to knock on the door. Instead of Bitch-off, that weasel, Morely is here. Well, he is the lesser of two evils. I hope.  
  
Morely smirks. "Sooo, you finally decided to show up, eh?"  
  
I decide to let my character take care of this one, and I put myself into the Chris Jericho mindset. "Well, the KING of the WORLD couldn't miss his own number one contender's match, now could he, Junior?"  
  
"No, I guess not," His voice is filled with gloating pleasure, and I know that this can't be good. He tosses me a script. "Too bad that you're going to lose."  
  
"What do you mean? I was scheduled to win."  
  
"That was until you vanished without a trace for a week. Besides, Andrew is pissed. He wants a piece of you at No Way Out."  
  
"I'll think about it." If Test wants to take some aggression out on me, fine. I walk of the room, heading towards my lockerroom to get ready for what is turning out to be a long night.  
  
  
  
I watch from the rampway as Christian knocks Test into Stacy and she falls. I try my best to keep any sign of worry from my face. Shit, I hope she's okay.  
  
Christian comes back up the ramp and we take off, our characters acting pleased with themselves. Once we're backstage, I shove Jay roughly into the wall and pin him there. "What the hell's your problem, man?!"  
  
"Oww." Jay looks shocked. "Chris, I was told to make it look believable. It's not like Andrew put any weight on her."  
  
"I don't care, Jay. If she's hurt, it's your ass."  
  
His eyes light up a bit. "You like her."  
  
"What?! No I don't! I. I'm just worried about her. I mean, I did hit her with a damn chair."  
  
Andrew and Stacy walk down the stairs, his arm around her, supporting her a bit. One of her hands is on the back of her neck. I walk up to them. "Stace, are you okay? I'm sorry about Jay. he was trying to make it more believable."  
  
Andrew looks like he's about to say something, but Stacy holds up her free hand. "Yeah Chris, I'm fine. Just a bit dizzy." She shakes her head, "I've gotta go sit down for a bit. Call me sometime this week, okay?"  
  
"Y-Yeah, you got it."  
  
"Cool. C'mon Andrew, I need to go lie down for a bit."  
  
Andrew shoots me a dirty look, as they continue towards the exit. "See you in the ring, Irvine..."  
  
I don't even bother to respond. Jay looks at me the second that they're out of earshot. "You DO like her, don't ya, Chris?"  
  
"Jay, I've got a match to go get ready for." I turn and walk down the hallway. Yeah, I had to go get ready to lose the match that I'd been scheduled to win. I hoped that I'd have time to call Bitch-off's cell phone and harrass him. I smiled, Stone Cold Steve Austin was going to put him into such a foul mood.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's notes- I didn't plan on Chris having a crush on her when I started writing, but somehow, I got there anyways. Oh well. Also, I'm not going to have access to a compy until Tuesday or Wednesday night, so. Just warning you guys that my next few posts will be a while from now.  
  
Oh, and I finally finished my Rey Mysterio/Edge fanfic that's based on events from months ago. And, I've started a really neat La Femme Nikita fic. I'll post if on ff.net if there's a category for it. I'm pretty sure that there is..  
  
Well, that's about it. Kepp on reviewing!!!  
  
~Holly 


	7. When Insulting the Former Boss, Make sur...

I walk into Bitch-off's office and he looks up from his laptop. He picks up my script and tosses it towards me. "There's your script. Call Steph, okay? She's worried sick."  
  
"Well, I would've called her last week, but someone forbid me to tell his girlfriend anything about what's been happening around here lately." I shoot him a dark look.  
  
Eric sighs, "Look Chris, I really don't have time for this right now. Steve Austin hasn't been responding to my e-mails or messages, and I may lose my job tonight. Steph may be my girlfriend, but she's also my competition. Don't forget that."  
  
"Yeah, Eric. Well don't you forget that your competition is my best friend."  
  
He just goes back to his typing. "Go read your script; I'll see you later tonight."  
  
I turn and leave the room. It is true that Steph is his competition; furthermore his competition with job security. Vince'd never dream of firing Daddy's little girl.  
  
I get to my lockeroom and hang my bag up, sitting down on one of the room's benches. I start skimming my script, stopping when I see my name. I jump up off of the bench when I read one certain line.  
  
Moments later, I storm back into Bitch-off's office without even bothering to knock. He looks up at me as I yell. "You want me to call her, what?!"  
As soon as my match ends, I walk back into Bischoff's office. I thought that waiting to say something until after my match would give me a while to cool down. I was definatley wrong; now I was more pissed than before. "I don't believe that you made me call her that."  
  
Morely shoots me a surprised look, "Well it is in your character's personality to say something like that."  
  
"Whatever. Just know that that will never ever happen again. And, by the way, I hope Vince fires both of your asses. Jeff Hardy could run RAW better than the pair of you combined." I turn around and run out of the office before they can respond. My cell phone is already out and dialed by the time that I get to my lockeroom. I sigh. "C'mon. pick up."  
  
On the fourth ring, I get an awnser. "Stephanie McMahon."  
  
"Hey Steph, it's me Chris."  
  
The tone of her voice changes from buisness-like to concerned. "What's up, Chris?"  
  
"You're watching RAW tonight, right Steph?"  
  
"Yeah, so.?"  
  
"Did you happen to catch the last segment? The part where I had to call Stacey Kiebler a 'broad'."  
  
"Yeah." Her voice now has a hint of confusion in it. "Acting in character has never bothered you this much before. Not even when you had to call me a 'bottom-feeding, trash bag, ho'."  
  
"That was different. You knew that I was just teasing you. We were always like that. It just, I don't know." I pause for a minute and take a deep breath, "Bothers me that they had me call her that as if she means nothing to." I catch myself before I say 'me', but Steph knows me well to well not to catch it.  
  
A long pause. "She doesn't mean anything to you, does she, Chris?" I carefully read the emotion in her voice. Deep-rooted concern. She takes my silence as a yes. "Shit, Chris, if Andrew finds out, he's gonna kill you. What about Stacey? Does she know?"  
  
"I. I don't think so."  
  
"Damn, Chris, you certainly are in deep shit. Oh, and not to change the subject, but." Her tone changes to stern with a trace of amusement," Did you really tell me boyfriend that Jeff Hardy can run RAW better than he can?"  
  
I chuckle, imagining how her eyebrows are raised, the way they get when she's trying really hard not to laugh. "Nope. I said he could run it better than both your boyfriend and his pet assistant."  
  
"You know that he didn't find that funny in the least bit, right? After all, Hardy isn't the brightest bulb on the tree."  
  
"Really, you could've fooled me."  
  
Finally I get a laugh out of her. "You know what I meant."  
  
"Yeah, that all of that dye has soaked into his brain." I chuckle, "I was just pissed. But I think that I got my point across."  
  
"Chris, watch your back, okay? You know how vindictive Eric can be, and I have no influence on RAW whatsoever.."  
  
"I'll be fine, Steph. I have to get going. I'll call you later tonight?" I make the last part a question, knowing how busy she is with Smackdown!. I'm seriously beginning to regret my decision to move to RAW.  
  
"You'd better. Talk to you later, Chris." I hang up my cell phone and slip it back into my bag. I sit there for a moment longer before getting up and turning on the tv. I can wait to take a shower; I wouldn't miss Vince's announcement for the world.  
I smirk for a moment longer, glad that that pain in the ass, Bitch- off, is out of my hair. Vince hadn't announced his decision to the crew before he went to the ring; he wanted to make Eric sweat longer. I don't blame him one bit. At least something's gone right tonight. I snatch up my cell phone and pause for a moment, giving him enough time to get back to his office before dialing his cell phone.  
  
"This had better be good ." Eric's voice sounds really stressed, then again I'd be the same way if I had just lost my job. To anyone else, I'd be nice and consoling, but to Bitch-off .  
  
I smirk evilly. Finally a chance to get back at the man who's been a thorn in my side for months. I know that Steph is gonna be pissed about this, but what the hell. "Yes, I'm calling from the unemployment office . just making sure that I should reserve your place in line ."  
  
"JERICHO!!!"  
  
Uh-oh, Bitch-off sounds pissed. Good. "Bitch-off, you've been a total bastard towards everyone in this company since you got here. So, I think that Vince said it best. Nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey hey, good-" The other end of the phone goes dead, and I grin. Bitch-off has such a bad temper.  
  
After I thoroughly enjoy watching the Dudleys' pound Morley into a bloody pulp, I get up and walk into the bathroom, turning on the shower. Things are most definitely looking up.  
I've just finished getting dressed when Jay comes tearing into the locker room at full speed, nearly colliding with me. I jump back, and shoot him a look. "Geez, Jay, where's the fire?"  
  
"Have you . taunted . Bitch-off . yet?" He pants, completely out of breath. He starts frantically stuffing his gear into his bag; he's most definitely not organized.  
  
"Yeah, I called him before I showered. It was great; you shoulda heard his voice . " The look on my tag-team partner's face makes me stop talking. "Jay, what's wrong?"  
  
"Bad news. J.R. got Austin signed. Vince reversed his decision . Eric's still the boss."  
  
"Shit." I grab my bag, for once glad that I'm neater than most of the other Superstars. "We gotta get out of here."  
  
Jay tosses me his rental car's keys. "Get the car started. I'll be there in a sec."  
  
I take off down the hall, wondering how bad Eric's revenge is going to be. All I know is that he's pissed and I'm in his line of fire. I know that I'm in deep shit. Here's hoping that I can get out of it.  
Author's note- Alright, the reason for the really short chapter is because I'm behind on the story. I should have a longer chapter next time, knock on wood . **grabs her Jericho muse and knocks on his head**  
  
Jericho: Hey!  
  
Author: Well, all of the sawdust that's up there should be good for something .  
  
Jericho: Now you definitely have me confused for Jeff Hardy. I'm the KING of the WORLD, dammit.  
  
Author: **laughs** You do realize that you sounded like Vince McMahon there, right?  
  
Jericho: **thinks for a moment** NOOOOO!!!! **runs out of the room, still screaming at the top of his lungs in horror**  
  
Author: I knew that'd get rid of him . **laughs evilly** Well, I think that that just made up for the short chapter. Thanks for all of the reviews that I've gotten so far; please post more . Pretty pwease . **gives you the puppy-dog look** 


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